Exhale
by SoManyAnchors
Summary: Inhaling in life is easy. It's the exhaling–the letting go–that's the hard part. Hayley Graham has a normal, happy life until tragedy strikes and her family is ripped away from her. She's wracked with the guilt that her existence still stands, while those she loves are no longer alive. But maybe one boy can help her learn when it's acceptable to let go; when it's okay to exhale.
1. Chapter 1 - Wreckless Mind

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own the "Twilight" Saga._

**Side-note**:_ Set during "New Moon," though the time frame will be a little off. AU._

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><p><strong>|Hayley|<strong>

Another nightmare wakes me in the gray early morning. Not the one that leaves you screaming in the early morning hours, while you thrash violently in your bed, but the one that leaves a sour taste in the back of your mouth and a heavy feeling of dread surrounding you, landing like a stone in your gut. If only I could remember them - these nightmares. If only I could remember the things that terrify me, the monsters under the bed, the creepy things that bump in the night.

Sitting up, I feel the sheets sticking to my damp arms and legs. I can feel the sweat pouring down my forehead, gliding into my eyes and clouding my already-blurry vision. My head is pounding, my brain is throbbing - the early stages of a headache working it way behind my eyes, my body's evil way to keep me awake in the morning when I only want to fall back to sleep.

I must have had _some _dream.

My hand instinctively reaches to grasp the platinum chain around my neck, the one that hold the circular locket dangling from my neck, the locket that houses the faces of my family. On my palm, I can feel the pressure of the owl against my skin, permanently marking me for the rest of the day as I tightly squeeze the piece of jewelry. The mark will fade, it always does, but I'll still feel it within my skin. I lift the locket to my lips, gently kissing it, before quickly releasing it from my grip and letting the locket fall against my chest where it rightfully belongs.

I'd rather be in bed, but I fight the urge. After grabbing some clothes for the day, I slowly trudge to the shower to start my usual morning routine. I stand beneath the stream of scalding hot water, letting it pound against my sensitive flesh. I can feel the top layer of skin, the thin sheen of sweat I collected through the night, washing away just like the nonexistent remains of the dream. _Or nightmare. _I should really use correct terms.

While the shower itself doesn't make me feel clean, not completely, it does make me feel _slightly _better. It makes me feel as if I can face the world in the upcoming hours with a fresh slate - a new canvas. As damaged as I am I feel that I can accomplish anything right now.

The feeling usually fades within the hour.

After towel-drying myself off, I drape the green towel over the metal bar screwed into the wall and grab my neatly folded clothes from the counter dressing myself as I avoid the gaze of morning-me in the mirror. It's never a pretty sight.

The weekend, sadly, is over and I start the second week - first full five-day week - of school today. It's just another typical day - another day where I am the freak, the junior class psycho, or any variation of the terms, or any new words that you want to add in, it all works around here.

I tug on my clothes, taking in the feel of the fabric against my steamed skin. As I correct the fall of clothing and smooth out any wrinkles, I check the reflection in the steamed mirror. I don't feel right; not completely. But I try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling looming over me like a shadow of a tall tree. I won't feel like myself - I'll _never _feel like myself.

As I stare at the lifeless girl before me, I realize that I'm not even sure what 'myself' is supposed to feel like - I just know that I won't feel _right _for a long, long time. Maybe not ever. To be honest, since my aunt took me in, some part of me has felt distant, some part of me felt misplaced forgotten, and corrupted.

In a nutshell: _dead_.

Dead like my mother. Dead like my father. Dead like my brother.

I _should _be dead, too. Decomposing six feet below, spending my days with Elvis and my great aunt Ida - maybe with my family, too. The scar that mars my abdomen, the one I've refused to show the world, agrees with me and aches whenever this thought crosses my mind.

But I'm still here, _breathing_, while they aren't.

How fair is that?

I sigh as I pull my damp and drying hair over my left shoulder, completely exposing the right side of my neck, and watch the water droplets fall to the hardwood floor below. My auburn curls are almost dry (the very same ones I've thought about shearing off ten times over, just because it reminds me of my mother). I paint my face with the usual makeup, nothing over the top, and brush my teeth using the disgusting cinnamon toothpaste I hate, but have yet to replace before vacating the bathroom.

The cold air of the hallway seeps through my clothes, my skin, chilling me to the bone. These old farmhouses are always infamous for being drafty. I shiver for a brief moment before my body can adjust to the temperature and force my bare feet to start their journey.

I walk back into my bedroom. After making my bed, using hospital corners, because I'm a bit weird, I go to my cluttered desk to prepare my backpack, shoving all binders and pieces of homework into their respective places before zipping it up and shouldering it.

I make my way down the stairs, listening to the old wood creak beneath my steps, and drop my pack by the piano bench in the living room before making a beeline for the kitchen. Upon entering the room through the white swinging door, I notice how the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air. I inhale deeply as I make my way to the coffee maker. I notice a small Post-It note stuck to the counter top.

_Have a cup of liquid courage (sorry, I'm out of bourbon).__  
><em>_Good luck today, kiddo.__  
><em>_-Kate_

A wry smile somehow finds its way to my face at my aunt's encouraging words. No doubt I just missed her by a mere few minutes before she rushed off to the hospital. She's a registered nurse at Forks Hospital, and dedicates most of her time to her career. Which, honestly, works out for me since I've learned to operate better alone.

I'm just thankful she transferred out here to Forks, from Seattle, to help raise her estranged brother's daughter. At least, this way, there isn't a chance for me to get lost in the System. I can remain in my childhood home for just a _little_while longer. Though the feeling is bittersweet (mostly bitter) I can't imagine finishing up my high school years _anywhere _else.

I need _some _sort of consistency in my life, right?

After downing two mugs of the scorching coffee, and rinsing out the dish, I place it in the drainer. I'm honestly sad to leave the kitchen - it's actually my favorite room in the house. It's spacious and open, with old-fashioned white furniture, pretty crystal windows, and perpetually sun-kissed walls. However, it hasn't been used properly since my mother's passing. _She _was the culinary genius, while neither me nor my aunt could cook for beans.

It's only when I glance at the clock on the stove, informing me that it's 7:35 AM, that I realize I need to get going if I'm to make it to school before the tardy bell. So, I lock up the house before making a beeline for my truck. Actually, it was Will's before the accident, but I've claimed it as my own seeing as how I haven't had the heart to park it permanently just yet. Selling it is just out of the question.

I can easily remember the summer my brother was _finally _able to purchase this hunk of junk, after saving every last dime from his paychecks. He took pride in what he purchased, and I even offered my services to help him give the vehicle a facelift. For the better part of three months, my life was spent under the hood of this Ford. Though I can remember complaining to Will about how this truck was more trouble than what it was worth, I wouldn't give up those times I spent with my older brother for anything.

I'm not even aware that I'm crying until a few droplets enter my mouth, and I taste the saltiness against my tongue. I sniffle and use the sleeve of my blue thermal shirt to wipe away the excess tears on my cheeks before checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. _So much for the makeup, _I think grimly as I take in my pale face and my red-rimmed eyes – a sure sign that I've been crying. I pinch my cheeks, trying to get some color back into them, before inserting the key into the ignition and starting up the truck.

I decide to take the scenic route to school, not bothering to cut through town to get to school.

The two lane road stretches on before me, with walls of trees and shrubbery that stretched on forever on either side. A very heavy sigh escapes my lips, collapsing my lungs within my chest, making me feel small and insignificant. I lean over and prod at the buttons on the radio until the broken antenna finally captures a local Country station, albeit a staticy one. But at least it's enough to break the deafening silence.

It's as I straighten back up that I see it, a large russet flash _of…something_ as it crosses the road just in front of my truck. I breathe in sharply and react almost immediately, stomping on my breaks, afraid of hitting whatever it is, and whip the wheel around in a frenzy.

I don't mean to act so ignorantly, but it's just so unexpected. My attempt at avoiding the thing puts my truck out of control and it spins off the road, the vehicle jerking to a stop as the right back side makes contact with a tall spruce. During all of this, I'm thrown around like a ragdoll, jerking wildly; my head coming into contact with the window first, then my head rest, and finally my steering wheel. I can feel the seatbelt tugged tightly against my chest, and my throat is sore from where it's digging into the top layer of my skin.

The worst part, though? I can slowly feel myself slipping in and out of unconsciousness. My eyes suddenly become heavy, and I can feel my body start to feel weightless.

Soon, I'm drifting.

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><p><strong>AN**: I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this first chapter… :/ lol. But it's what came to mind as soon as I sat down to type it out, so I'm not going to change anything. I have the plot in my head, I just hope I can do it justice by actually writing it.

Now, I know some things might be a little confusing, but as the story progresses I promise that all your questions will my addressed. :) So, no worries on that front.

I hope you enjoy this story, as much as I know I will writing it! Feedback is always encouraged, and welcome!

Until the next chapter!

-Dev.


	2. Chapter 2 - Hospital Horrors

**Side-note**: _Just a reminder, w__hile this story takes place during "New Moon," the timing will be off. Edward hasn't left yet (though he will), and Jacob has already shape-shifted. _

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><p><strong>|Hayley|<strong>

_Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

I come awake all at once, with a jolt like five shots of espresso hitting my bloodstream at full speed. _"Ugh,"_ I moan loudly, my throat burning with the noise. My head feels like a bowling ball being cracked by a giant's fingers. My vision is bleary as I force my lids up, and away from my hazel eyes. My forehead is still resting against the steering wheel, and so I try to set myself upright despite the protest of every muscle in my neck and back.

I peer frantically around the cab, rubbing what feels like a half-ton of sand out of my eyes. I feel relief wash over me when everything seems to be in order, and I don't spot anything broken – as far as the truck goes. I obviously can't see if there's a large dent in the back-end, though.

_Tap. Tap. _Like little rubber-covered sticks drumming against the glass.

I whirl around, trying to ignore the pulsating sensation in my head and the ache in my ribs, and find myself become completely rigid as I take in the sight of what – rather _who_ – is on the other side of the glass.

Outside of my window is a boy – no, a _man_ is a more appropriate term considering his massive size and well-toned body. His upper torso is completely bare, and the only covering he has is a pair of jean cut-offs that look worse for wear. As our eyes clash, I notice how his body becomes inexplicably _rigid. _It's as if someone has just electrocuted him, the way his body stiffens. His dark, soulful eyes grow to the size of saucers and his lips part just enough to reveal the stark white of his teeth against his tan skin.

I feel my cheeks grow warm as I shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze, and reach for the handle to row down the window part way as I wait for him to say something...

...except he doesn't. He opens his mouth for a moment, as if he's about to begin, then stops and shuts his mouth as if he doesn't know how to. We continue to stare at each other for a prolognued moment, both taking in the other's appearance; him looking over me searchingly, and I taking him in all in wonder. _Is it just me, or is he hunched over just so he can look inside at me? _

He appears to be confused by my expression. What _is_ my expression? Horror, shock, pain, surprise? I figure it must be a combination of them all, because as I try to collect myself, he seems to do the same. I watch as concern, and even a little anger, mask his face, if my eyes aren't deceiving me. I'm sure they are, though, since everything is still a little fuzzy around the edges.

Finally, my stranger speaks, which I'm thankful for. "Are you…alright?" It's odd how such an intimidating person has trouble finding his words, like he isn't sure of what he's doing. Unfortunately, though, he doesn't seem too convinced by my nod of affirmation. _Is my face betraying me? _"I, uh, heard you crash. What happened?"

"I-I'm not sure. I think it was something…_big_," I mumble, only shaking my head to the slightest degree so as not to cause myself more pain.

"You look like you're in really bad shape," he tells me softly, still staring at me with those intense eyes. It's beginning to become a little unsettling, and makes a small tremble course through my shoulders. "Listen, I'll feel bad if I just let you go like this. Can I please drive you to the hospital?"

His question takes me by surprise, but he seems sincere about it. Besides, after what just happened, I'm in no condition to drive. Of course, there is the fact that I don't know who this person is, that I need to take into consideration. Aside from the obvious fact that he's from the Quileute tribe in La Push, I know nothing about him.

"My name is Jacob Black," he introduces himself, as if he can read my thoughts. Either that, or he's just extremely perceptive. "I won't hurt you," he adds desperately, confusing my already muddled mind.

_What does he mean by that? _

His reassurance seems to do the trick, however, because I'm soon opening the door for him and climbing over into the passenger seat. While ever fiber in my being is screaming at me to run for the hills, my body is aching and I know I have no chance of outrunning him, anyway.

Jacob doesn't appear to notice that I'm internally battling with myself as he climbs into the truck and settles himself into the driver's seat. I let out a languid sigh as I rest the side of my face against the cool glass, suddenly feeling very sleepy. I yawn, my lids already drooping as my shoulders slump forward.

"Hayley Graham… For the doctors," I mutter lowly.

I can't keep my eyes open anymore and I embrace the relief sleep can bring for my pain.

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><p><em>It's so hot. Am I in the Sahara?<em>

"No-o," I manage to croak out, answering my own question. I sigh heavily and nestle back into the furnace I'm sleeping against; it's comfortable, despite the fact that it's _very _hot. This furnace is pleasantly soft too, which only adds to my blissful state of warmth. Another sigh whistles from my lungs and my furnace chuckles lightly, rocking at the sound.

"'No' what? Are you about to ask me for five more minutes?" A husky voice says, sarcasm and playfulness evident in its tone. I gasp and my eyes flash open, only to cause a slightly burning sensation in them. I hiss in protest and quickly close them again, realizing that my retinas are a little too sensitive to the lighting. I feel something large - a hand, I quickly realize - run over the back of my head in a soothing motion. It would have been relaxing, if I wasn't so disoriented at the moment.

"Why is it so _hot_?" I moan, _slowly_ opening my eyes again. With bleary eyes I take a quick glance at my surroundings, and feel my blood run cold when my brain registers just _where _I am. The ER waiting room of Forks Hospital, with its bright florescent lighting and bustling staff, is _not _a place I'm particularly fond of. Though, I notice how the chairs have been rearranged a bit since my last time being here. There is still the out of date magazines stacked up in reckless piles on small end tables, the vending machines that always eat your money tucked away in the corner, and faux plants galore just to add to the horror.

I wonder if I let it get to me, if I break down right here, right now, will they really send off to one of _those _hospitals?

"Hayley...Hayley..._Hayley Graham_? Are you okay?" I don't realize that I haven't been listening, until now. "Hello? _Hello?" _It's the deep voice from earlier, only it's muffled. A blurred, yet somewhat familiar face, appears in front of my own.

_Strange. _My cheeks are growing very warm, all of a sudden. I reach up and touch them gingerly only to find there is something blocking my fingertips and my cheeks. I roam along the smooth, scorching surface of the two earmuffs, all in a daze from the electricity that seems to pass through them and into my flesh.

"Are you alright? Please, answer me." It's with the pleading tone that everything snaps back into place as if something goes _pop! _and it all comes rushing in at once.

"I'm sorry. I lost track of things for a second. I'm fine." My voice sounds pathetic, even to me, and I try to smile as best as I can at the handsome boy before me. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem convinced. "You were saying...Jacob?" The name feels foreign on my tongue, but at least me speaking seems to calm him down a little.

Jacob drops his burning hands from my face and lets them rest in his lap. I'm glad for that; I dont know how much more heat I can take.

"You had me worried there, you know. You looked like you were about to cry, again." He's shaking his head as he speaks, his expression suddenly turning hard, pulling his russet skin taught against his strong jaw. His last two words ring repeatedly through my ears, but Jacob doesn't notice my vacant expression. Rather, he's saying something again, but I don't force myself to listen. Besides, I get the gist of what he's telling me: he didn't let the doctor's wake me up, I still have to go through x-rays and probably a multitude of other tests.

All of that equals up to _one _thing: spending more time in the hospital.

"_Why _didn't you let the doctors wake me up?" I hiss through clenched teeth, so angry that I feel as though I could just _spit _in this guy's face. "This hospital is the _last _place I want to be right now. I _hate _it here, and now I'm going to be stuck here all day!" I can feel everything bubbling up dangerously inside of me, anxiety ripping through my chest with claws as sharp as knives; jabbing and tearing through everything. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are, anyway? Why did you even bother sticking around? I can take care of myself, y'know!"

My head is practically _pulsating_ as my words rise in volume, but Jacob just sits there and takes it all in stride. I'm honestly surprised that he puts up with it, and it pisses me off that he doesn't even make an attempt to fight back. It isn't something I'm used to, that's for sure.

"Your doctor is here," Jacob mutters darkly, his black brows coming together as he turns away from me.

I groan as I stand to my feet, my balance slightly off-kilter, preparing myself to follow the middle-aged man that is decked out in a white coat with a clipboard in hand. At first, I feel like he's eyeing my bedraggled clothing, but I notice that his attention is focused on something behind me.

Curious, I turn around in just enough time to see Jacob standing to his feet and stretch, my jaw practically dropping to the floor. He's bigger than I expected; he's at least six-four. And I notice that he's wearing a scrub top. No doubt that one of the employees provided it for him seeing as how they have a dress policy here at the hospital, and he was shirtless the last time I was conscious.

Everyone in the waiting room is giving him the same awe-struck stare, and I can't wipe mine off my face as I follow the doctor so they can get photos of my noggin.

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><p>Why does everything have to be <em>white<em>? It isn't happy, it isn't hopeful; it's blank, monotonous and sterile. _Why couldn't they have done something happy, like orange or yellow?_

I chew on my thumbnail, focusing intently on the hospital walls and try my best to ignore the pain from the injuries I received. I sit on the scratchy sheets of the hospital bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, waiting in anticipation for my release papers. I'm on edge because I want to get out of here _before _Kate catches wind of her only niece being in the ER, when she _should _be sitting in the back of a classroom, trying her best just to mesh into the background and make it through the school day unscathed.

_I can't seem to do anything right, lately._

Also, I'm cranky, and _exhausted_, but relieved because Doctor Gerandy said that I didn't earn myself a concussion with my recklessness, however unintentional it might have been. He recommended that I sleep, keep some ice on my bumps and bruises, and take some aspirin as needed. _Thanks for telling me something I could have figured out on my own, _I think dryly while huffing in the process.

I squeeze my knees tighter and bite down a little harder on my thumbnail, trying not to let the different smells of the hospital get to me. The alcohol and hand sanitizer odors I can handle, but the other smells make me nervous. I can smell blood...blood and death. A light whimper escapes past my lips as I feel a tremor rake through my body, and begin rocking myself to try and distract myself from the last part.

_Everything is going to be okay, _I think to myself and attempt to swallow past the lump that rises in my throat.

"Ahem," I hear a throat clear, and my head shoots up so fast that I'm lightheaded. My body tenses when I find myself staring into a pair of ocher eyes, set in a face so handsome that it looks as though angels themselves sculpted it. "I'm sorry for the wait, Miss Graham. Dr. Gerandy had to step away for a moment, and he asked me to fill in for him."

"I-It's fine," I stumble over my words, not realizing until now that my tongue is heavy and dry in my mouth.

"I assume that Dr. Gerandy has covered everything?" the blonde man inquires, handing me a clipboard and a pen, indicating where I should sign and initial. Thankfully, they didn't have to give me morphine, or anything else that renders me illegally intoxicated. Because if they did, then that would mean I would have to have someone _else _sign me out.

"Yes, sir," I mumble as I return the clipboard, with the documents that I barely even skimmed over, to him. "May I leave now?"

A pleasant laugh spills from his mouth. "Eager, are we?"

_You don't even know. _I just give him a terse nod in response.

"Yes, as of now you are free to go," he utters the words that I've been _needing_ to hear. Without so much as a second thought, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and hop down quickly. _Too _quickly, it seems, because my knees begin to buckle. "Easy does it," the doctor - who I now know to be Carlisle Cullen, due to his ID badge pinned to the lapel of his lab coat - advises.

I try to refrain from showing any signs of shock at the iciness of his hands as he helps to steady me. He looks concerned. "I'm alright," I assure him, even throwing in a smile for effect. I'm just hoping he buys my act so I can leave.

"Very well," Dr. Cullen says after a prolonged moment, in which I feel anxiety begin to settle in. I'm frightened that he's going to tell me that I'll have to stay overnight for observation. "But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all." _  
><em>

I visibly relax, releasing a low sigh as I nod my head once more. With an amicable smile, Dr. Cullen says his goodbye before moving on to another patient in the next cubicle.

Now, it's time to make my exit.

I try my best to avoid the nurses and orderlies that are bustling about, not wanting to get in their way, and meander through the long hallways of the ER until the double doors come into view. On the other side of those doors is my freedom, and I practically scramble to reach it.

The waiting room is more unpleasant the second time around. I keep my head ducked down, my eyes lowered to the linoleum floor below me, so as to not make eye contact with anyone, and begin to fish around for my keys in the pockets of my jeans. Only, _they aren't there._ I feel the color drain from my face as I try to think of where they could be.

"Looking for these?" I jump at this, whipping around to see Jacob Black standing an arm's length away, with a smug smirk and holding up a set of keys. My brother's lucky rabbit foot stands out the most to me on the key ring, and I can't help but feel my blood boil at the sight of them in this boy's possession.

"Give me those," I all but demand, my eyes flashing dangerously, trying to make a grab for them. However, seeing as he's over a head taller than me, he stretches his arm up into the air, suspending them tauntingly overhead.

"I don't think you're in too good of a condition to drive," he tells me pointedly. "I mean, look at what happened last time."

"That's _only _because something ran out it front of me," I reminded him, attempting to snatch my keys from him a second time. _  
><em>

"Just let me drive you home," he says suddenly, catching me off-guard. "It's the _least_ I can do." Once again, he confuses me with his words, but the sincerity behind them are genuine. It's his eyes that are officially my undoing, though. They seem to be almost _pleading _with me to accept his offer.

Against my better judgement, I concede. "_Fine_," I grit out before practically stomping over to the glass doors of the exit.

Just because I've agreed to let him drive me home, _doesn't _mean I have to like it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I love Jacob. :) 'Nuff said on that. Lol.

I hope you all like Hayley's character. Personally, I just love her (but I suppose I'm biased on that haha). I want her to be believable, as well as relatable. So please let me know what you think of her!

Oh, and this isn't going to be where Jacob rejects his imprint... Though I'm not exactly going to make it easy on Jake and Hayley. They're going to face some hardships. But don't worry: true love will prevail (I'm a hopeless romantic, btw).

Thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows! Please leave some feedback with your thoughts, or if you might have a question about the story. I love hearing from you guys! :D

Have a good week!

-Dev.


	3. Chapter 3 - Conflicted

**|Hayley|**

I've never liked rain. It symbolizes depression and, for someone who's mood _used _to be sunny - a long time ago - it's just something I simply don't believe in. Rain is always cold and will soak you every time, no matter _how _many rain coats you wear. I scoff._ How typical, then, that I live in Forks, Washington; where the sky constantly cries its eyes out. _

With dull eyes, I stare out at the scenery, watching the rain pepper down in a steady rhythm. Forks is nothing if it not consistent with its weather patterns. The rain soaks our yard, filling up several puddles with murky water. The occasional plant and bush sag under the weight of the water and I notice birds perched in a tree, huddling together and fighting for the protection from the rain under the leaves.

I hear movement from upstairs, footsteps, and soon I'm joined by my aunt as she walks into the kitchen with her tired, bloodshot eyes set on the coffee maker. "Mornin'," she mumbles like an afterthought, exhaustion obvious in her voice as she sighs. Her eyelids are dropping, her petite body is sagging and dropping awkwardly to the left, and she looks ready to fall asleep wherever she stands.

"Hey, Aunt Kat," I say into my orange juice, calling her the nickname she despises. It was a happy accident when I was eight and it just stuck. I've called her that for years, now; she can't stop me, no matter how hard she tries. As a teenager, I am, like most, very stubborn.

She starts a pot off coffee with fumbling fingers that briefly make me mentally question her quality of work as a nurse. She ignores the fact that I've used my nickname for her, not snapping at me like she usually does, and turns to lean against the counter. Kate drags her hands through her ginger hair and turns her attention to me, lifting her gaze from the empty mug she holds in her hands, one of those Seattle mugs for tourists.

"Don't forget that _I'm _dropping you off at school today, on my way to work, kiddo," Kate reminds me.

_Again._

I let out a long, exaggerated sigh and close my eyes, leaning my head back. I try mentally counting to ten, something I was told to do when I get upset, or extremely pissed off. "How could I forget?" I ask her, the annoyance slithering into my tone like a snake.

I don't mean to come off so harshly, but this is purgatory; having my driving privileges taken away just because some idiotic boy didn't know how to keep his yap shut. I was seriously considering decking Jacob Black square in the jaw as soon as he let it slip about my accident, but no doubt I would have broken my hand in the process. And yet, it _might_ have been worth it.

"Right. Well, I'll just go get ready, then," Kate mumbles, pouring some coffee into her mug and exiting the kitchen without another word.

As I watch her retreating figure, shame slips through me, coursing through my veins. _I am such an idiot sometimes. _Kate is just trying to do right by me - doing what she thinks is best. _Like family. _

I want to apolgize for sounding like an immature brat. I want to set down my glass, run after her, place my hand on her shoulder, and, while looking into her emerald green eyes, smile sweetly and comfort her. Or as sweetly as I can.

But I'm not like that.

I will _never _be like that.

* * *

><p>The halls of Forks High School are their usual crush as I walk to my locker. I notice a few stares from people as I pass by, and one girl even mumbles <em>'freak,' <em>under her breath. I've long since grown thick skin and the insult is easy to ignore. As long as it isn't written on my locker in hideous coral lipstick, I'm good.

I focus on a stray thread on the hem of my blouse, gnawing on my lower lip; a nervous tick of mine. So much has happened in the past year, it's strange to think of it all in sequence. It's even stranger to think that _this _is my life now. Before my family died, I was your typical kid. I hung out with friends, had sleepovers, watched hours of classic scream feasts with my brother (like the old _Halloween _and _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies) and, when the weather was co-operable, my friends and I would gather on First Beach and spend some fun in the sun.

But _after _my family died? _I don't know. _Things just didn't seem to have the same appeal to me anymore. I withdrew. Where I had been loud and silly and voracious before, I became quiet, and I wanted to be alone more often. My circle of friends dwindled down over time, and I became a recluse. Cara Green, my best friend, held out the longest. But even she began to distance herself, growing closer to other girls. And honestly? It's okay. I became a major downer for a long time, and didn't expect my friends to be dragged down with me.

I sigh as I unload all of my post-lunch class books and notebooks into my locker, watching the book tower grow. It knocks serious weight from my back. Only a week, not even a full week, into school and I'm already regretting my decision of _four _advanced placement classes.

The tardy bell rings as I slide into my seat in my AP European History class. I'm in the seat next to Mike Newton. We're at the table in the back of the room, in front of the windows. I tug the red notebook from my backpack, the composition reserved for this class. Already, the first five pages are filled with notes in a rainbow of color, the pages crinkly and curling from my neat handwriting. I choose a purple pen today; I choose a different color every day for note taking. It keeps things interesting.

"I'm _not _going to be able to keep up in this class," I hear the blonde kid mutter bitterly as he slides into the seat next to mine and prepares his side of the desk, his eyes stealing glances at my notebook enviously.

_Then why take it? _

Mike is smart, he just isn't the AP type. Like most jocks at Forks High, he's okay with scraping by with a C average. As long as that means he can play on the varsity football team during the fall semester and soccer during the spring. Sometimes, it's hard to believe that he and Will were best chums when he was still alive.

Mr. Cheney finally walks through the door, his bald head glinting in the bright fluorescent light. It only gets worse throughout the class, somewhat blinding us as he exaggerates points with his entire body. With every move he makes, it's as if he's trying to tell us something in Morse code.

Fifty-five minutes and three full purple mages of notes later, I'm on my way to AP Calculus.

Most of my school day is spent just trying to get by without drawing any attention to myself. And, for the most part, I manage to do it without a hitch. Except for P.E.

It's as I tug my purple top over my head, leaving the white camisole on to hide my torso, that I notice a few girls glancing at me as I grab my shorts and t-shirt from my locker. The _last _thing these people need to see - need to know about - is my scar. The heather gray t-shirt I wear for this class falls down my stomach as someone struggles with the combination on the locker next to mine.

I watch as Jessica Stanley twists and spins the lock at least five times before grunting and hitting her palm against the hard, cold metal once, twice, three, four times until I fear she's about to sprain her wrist. She gives up, muttering, "I hate these damned lockers," before calling over Isabella Swan for some assistance. The pretty girl with pale skin and chocolate hair rolls her eyes, before detaching herself from the group of girls by the door of the locker room, and ambles over and assists her friend.

I watch in slight interest as Bella manages to open Jessica's locker the first time. The annoyed girl grabs her clothes from the metal box, throws them down on the bench with a huff. "I _hate _this stupid class."

"You _could _have been a cheerleader with Lauren," Bella reasons, almost hiding her grimace. I guess organized sports just aren't her thing.

The rule at Forks High is that students _must _take a gym class; be it weight lifting, global games, dance, and so on. There is even a walking class for those that don't want to try, or hate exercise all together. The only exception is if you play a sport for the school. They reason that you're already exercising, so there's no need to tire you out with an hour-long class before practice.

"So I can spend my days kissing Lorraine Cavanaugh's ass? No, thanks," Jessica huffs loudly, envy lacing her tone. I notice how a few girls nearby turn to glare at her as she badmouths one of the sweetest girls that attends Forks High School, alongside Angela Webber. I'm waiting for both girls to be inducted into sainthood.

Sooner than I would have liked, Coach Clapp is banging on the girls' locker room door, instructing us to join the rest of the class in the gymnasium. We all file out, albeit reluctantly. Obviously, the thought of running the mile irks a lot of people, there's really no avoiding it. The coach likes to believe that running the mile weekly will make us faster. In retrospect, it _should,_ but it doesn't; not in the way he wants. I_ could _run a fast mile; I _could_ also enter a chicken wing-eating contest in a dive bar in the middle of Nowhere, Washington. I just choose not to.

I step into the gym, the thick scent of floor polish, chlorine - which is strange, because the school doesn't have a pool - and sweat wafts through air. It's enough to make you gag. People are scattered around the gym in groups; some stretching, most talking, all annoyed to be here. I can relate to them on that note.

Coach Clapp calls the class to attention, calls roll, and then sends us out to the track for our damned weekly mile.

I run at a leisurely pace, not wishing to put in any real effort, and finish just under ten minutes. I only need a drink from the water fountain on the wall and I'm good to go.

Finally, class ends after we suffer through a few rounds of basketball. Some girl, that doesn't understand the concept of _keep your eyes on the ball_, got hit in the face by the basketball. Hard. It was a typical day in gym for us.

Soon, I'm in my normal clothes, and I'm on my way to AP Chemistry where I boil things over a Bunsen burner. Lunch is directly after, and as I enter the cafeteria I avoid eye contact with everyone.

I snag an apple from the lunch line, before the lunch lady can notice that I haven't paid for it. Cleaning the skin with a napkin, I quickly make my way to the back of the cafeteria and take my usual seat. I sit at the circular table that's directly in front of the large windows that overlook the quad and baseball and soccer fields. The rain has let up, and the sky is now a hazy gray with the sun trying to force its way through the clouds in a few places.

After lunch, I practically breeze through the rest of my classes. American Sign Language is easy and we sign about lunch items; specifically what we ate for lunch. _"For lunch, I ate an apple," _I sign to my partner. In AP English, we're assigned _Beowulf, _and I tackle a good chunk of it before the end of class, thanks to a speed-reading technique I mastered once, because I was so bored. After that, I'm in the art room for Art Appreciation, working on my sketching techniques.

At three-oh-five, the final bell rings, signaling the end of yet _another _tedious school day. Mrs. Winnow instructs the class to clean up their work stations before leaving, which I do in a hurry. I expect Kate to already be out by the curb, waiting for me. That notion is proved wrong, however, from the text message she sends as I'm on my way to my locker.

**From**: _Kate  
><em>_I'll be about a half-hour late. Sorry! I'll order takeout tonight to make up for it ok?_

I can't help but be won over by her offer.

**To**: _Kate  
><em>_Make it a meat lover's pizza from Tony's and it's a deal._

**From**: _Kate  
>Done. You're a gem kiddo!<em>

I pocket my phone, make a pit stop at my locker, and head for the exit.

* * *

><p>True to her word, Kate orders pizza and we stuff our faces for the better part of the evening, lounging about in the living room and watching re-runs of <em>Castle<em>. Afterwards, with my stomach satiated, I'm tempted just to lay back on the couch and nap. I'm tempted to dive into my subconscious and swim among the darkness. The thought of sleeping for a good ten hours or so, is so overwhelming, so tantalizing, that I can feel my body unconsciously lean back to succumb to the wanted escape.

Unfortunately, however, I have homework to do. _Damn it._

So, I excuse myself and escape up to my room, where I finish my remaining Calculus problems like a good little girl, successfully completing what I couldn't in class. Then, I change into a comfy pair of pajamas before relaxing back on my bed and cracking open _Beowulf,_ with every intent to read.

Of course, just my luck, I end up snoozing instead. I wake up to light knocking on my bedroom door, with _Beowulf_ resting on my chest and my body serving as the bookmark. I notice that I didn't even read a full ten pages.

I rub the sleep from my eyes as I heave myself upright, tossing the book aside and calling a faint, "Come in!"

Kate opens the door and steps in, and I notice she's dressed in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and an old Seattle U t-shirt. Her hair is clipped back at the nap of her neck, her black-framed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and she's holding the cordless phone in her left hand. I don't miss the peculiar expression on her face. "There's, uh, someone on the phone for you," she says slowly, as if she can't believe the words coming out of her own mouth.

I blink slowly, utterly confused. "Who?"

She raises her eyebrows. "A boy. You know him. Jacob Black?"

My mind is reeling. _Am I still sleeping?_ "Wait, _who_?"

"Jacob Black," she repeats, covering the end of the phone and lowers her voice as she continues to speak, a hint of incredulity in her tone. "This is the _third _time the kid's called. I tried to let you sleep, but he's persistent."

I gape at the phone as she extends it out to me to take, but I can only stare at it unblinkingly. This is unchartered territory for me - I do _not _get phone calls. Especially from guys - guys that are a thorn in my side like one _Jacob Black._

"Just talk to the boy, already," Kate demands, shoving the phone into my hand. "He's been anxious to talk to you..._obviously_," she adds as an afterthought before leaving the way she came.

I stare absentmindedly at the back of my bedroom door, slowly raising the phone to my ear, though I can't find any words to say. Besides, I thought I made it pretty clear yesterday that I _didn't _want to talk to him. After caving under Kate's patronizing glare, he sang like a canary. _Whimp._

"I can hear you breathing," came Jacob's amused voice through the phone. "I hope this isn't going to be a one-sided conversation."_  
><em>

I feel my eyes narrow into angry slits. _"How_ did you get this number?"

"Turns out you're listed," he responds breezily, followed by some rustling noises. "Lucky for me, though, 'cause there's not that many Grahams in Forks. Your number was the third on my list."

So, the boy decided to compile a list of numbers and call each one? _Could he be anymore cliche? _I sigh as I tuck a few stray curls behind the shell of my ear, flopping back on my pillows and staring up at my shadow-danced ceiling. "Why did you call me, Jacob?"

"'Why'?" he repeats, seemingly surprised by my question.

Well, I might as well stick to it since I've already asked. "Yeah. _Why _did you call here three times just to talk to me?"

"I just wanted to make sure you're alright," he responds tersely, his tone irate. "Am I not _allowed _to do that?"

"I never said-" But I stop myself, sinking my teeth into my tongue to refrain myself from saying anything more.

My hand creeps up to the chain around my neck, tugging the locket from under my shirt and clutching it in my hand. It's my own way to calm down when I want to mentally count. The warm metal bites into my hand and I close my eyes, remembering the faces inside, how happy they look, smiling at me when I open the locket.

This would be when Will would say something witty, like, _"Your red is showing, Hales." _My brother _always _commented how the red in my hair would reel its ugly head whenever I get angry.

Jacob makes a sound that is something between a growl and a grunt. "You didn't have to say anything. You've made it obvious that you don't like me, Hayley. _I get it._"

"I don't not like you, okay?" I snap, only to be met with silence from the other end. So, I decide to elaborate, "Besides, I don't even _know_ you. So, how can I hate you?"

"Then _get_ to know me," Jacob suggests, his tone lighter. "I promise I'm not a bad guy."

And, somehow, I know that to be true. He's just been trying to lend me a helping hand, lately. He was also kind enough to drive me to the hospital, when I might not have made it on my own, which makes me feel even worse.

"I don't think that you are," I assure him. "But, I-"

"Do you want to know the answers to the questions that you asked me at the hospital?" Jacob suddenly speaks up, interjecting.

I can't help but huff, "You're not going to let this whole 'getting-to-know-you' thing go, are you?"

"Probably not," he responds smugly.

_Damn it._

"Look, Jacob, I don't think-"

"Shit, I gotta go," he cut in, only serving to grate on my nerves even more. Will I ever get a word in edgewise with this kid? "Maybe we can hang out sometime. I'll let you pick the time and place, okay?"

"Once _again, _I don't think that that's-"

"A bad idea? Yeah, me either," he enthuses.

"_God, _do you ever shut up?" I all but demand, my tone icy.

"Not really," he answers casually, unfazed by my irateness. "But you'll learn that soon enough... Oh, and Hayley? Thanks."

He ends the call before I can even ask what he's thanking me for.

* * *

><p><strong>A\N<strong>: Hey, guys! :) Hope you all had a good weekend!

Sorry for the wait for this chapter. I've just been trying to catch up on my writing for this story... So far, so good! Sadly, sometimes real life tends to get in the way of my fiction one. :( lol.

I hope you guys like this chapter! I promise things will be set into motion _very _soon! Just please be patient with me!

Feedback is always welcome! I'd really like to hear from your guys! Thanks so much for the favorites/follows so far.

I'll try to update every Sunday evening (EST)!

Have a great week!

-Dev.


	4. Chapter 4 - Internal Yearning

**|Hayley|**

I don't even realize I'm actually _awake _when I first regain consciousness the next morning. Forcefully, I start my morning routine in a hazy blur - too tired to move, really - still smiling, though. I note that I didn't wake up screaming from a nightmare like a normal morning. My nights are usually filled with scary, unseen moments coupled with the feeling of drowning, suffocation, or falling, and my mornings are oftentimes spent stripping the nervous sweat from my body as I try and calm my nerves before I face the rest of my day.

But today is _different_, and I'm not quite sure how to feel about that. So, I choose to reign in my emotions, and safely tuck them away in a corner of my chest where they can remain inconspicuous. Still, I can't figure out how I've managed to get away with such a wonderful, dreamless sleep. Ever since the accident, I've never had a good night's rest. _Until now._

I take a shower after rolling out of bed, since I didn't take one last night. The scorching water feels good as it pelts my bare back, undoing knots of stress embedded there just under my skin. I suppose it helps that this old farmhouse has great water pressure.

After washing away all of the soap and shampoo, I reach back and reluctantly turn off the showerhead. I grab a towel and wrap it around my dripping frame before exiting the bathroom. My skin erupts in goosebumps as the cold air of the house brushes over it, hastening my pace back to my room and throwing on some clothes.

I decide on a pair of light-blue jeans, a light green v-neck shirt that brings out my eyes, and a green beanie that I knitted myself during the summer.

It's down in the kitchen, when I'm halfway through my bowl of _Cheerios, _that I'm reminded of Jacob's call.

"So, about this boy, Jacob Black," Kate says, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

I choke on a mouthful of cereal. "W-What about him?"

She raises her eyebrow at me suggestively. "The kid called _three_ times, Hayley. He seemed pretty desperate to talk to you."

I simply shrug and stare intently into my bowl; I don't really know what Kate expects me to say. Besides, it isn't like I know what's going on in that boy's head. With her trusty mug of piping hot coffee in hand, Kate sits on the other side of the kitchen table and watches me speculatively. I pointedly ignore her.

"C'mon, Hayley," she urges, taking a sip of her drink. "Why don't you tell me about him?"

"Maybe because I don't _know _him," I tell her pointblank, wanting nothing more than to get off the topic of Jacob Black. His words from last night filter into my mind, echoing off the walls of my skull, _"Then get to know me. I promise I'm not a bad guy." _

"Well, he's from over in La Push, right?" Kate muses aloud, staring at me thoughtfully. I only nod my head in response, not wanting to encourage the continuity of this conversation. "And he's obviously Quileute..."

"Aunt Kate, _please,_" I cut in with an edge to my tone. Talking about boys with my aunt is the _last _thing I want to do this morning. Besides, Jacob Black isn't even on my radar.

Kate nods, forcing a smile, as I stand from the table and go over to rinse out my bowl. I know that she's scared for me. She's been scared for me since the day she discovered she was the legal guardian of a sixteen-year-old. Since then, she has changed her life to accommodate my needs. That's a hard thing to do when you're thirty-three, living in a college town, and your usual weekend consisted of spending the night out on the town without a care in the world.

Looking at the former sorority girl, the former party girl and former track star, I want to thank her for everything she's done for me - everything that she's sacrificed for me - in such a short amount of time. She transferred her job, she left her apartment, she broke off a two-year relationship; basically uprooted her whole life - all for me. Yet, I'm _still _treating her like a stranger when she's pretty much all I have left in the world.

I just want her to know how thankful I am, sometimes.

"I think I'm going to just walk to school this morning," I say aloud, needing some time alone to just mull things over.

"Are you sure?" came Kate's hesitant question. "Because you know I don't mind driving you."

"No, I know," I assure her, turning around and leaning back against the counter while crossing my arms. "And, besides, I've got some time to kill."

And so, I leave Kate to her coffee and some much needed alone time (it must be hell having to deal with someone like me all of the time).

I slip into my rain boots, toss my backpack over one shoulder, and I'm out the door without another word. As I descend the front porch steps, I notice how the air is still damp with the early morning dew. The sun is still low on the horizon, and the evening chill still blankets the front yard.

The driveway is lighted only by the small solar lamps that line the sides. They don't really cast much light, and I think about how my mother had my father set them up because of the way the small lantern-looking lamps hangs decoratively from the thin posts. My mom was always so concerned with how our yard looked. She often claimed that a person's front yard leaves an impression of the family inside the home. It always seemed silly to me. I mean, what did forsyhtia bushes and perennials say about my family when they were still alive? That we were colorful and well-groomed?

As I walk along the sidelines of the two-lane road, I kick some gravel with the tips of my boots. Walking won't exactly keep my mind off of things, but it enables me to think freely; to think infinitely without the worry that would no doubt be aimed at me from Kate.

I try to focus on the view as I amble along, admiring the greenery of everything. I've always loved the moss that covers the trees, their trunks, their branches hanging with a canopy of it. I suppose you could say it's a 'nice' day for Forks, considering that the well-known rain, that never fails to miss a day's worth of downpour, isn't present. Still, it's very dull - the clouds hang low in the sky, darkening the area with their immeasureable shadows - and I'm almost positive it will rain, again, soon.

I finally arrive at school with fifteen minutes to spare. There are some students milling about in the parking lot, some lounging on the hoods of vehicles and others in the beds of trucks. As I pass by a group of rowdy boys, decked out in letterman jackets, I feel my heart clench painfully at the sight of them. I recognize Troy Davis and Eric Griffith, two of my brother's best friends, from the bunch. The latter of the two caught my eye, and he cast me a faint smile. Reflexively, I return it before averting my gaze down to my feet as I continue on my way.

In normal circumstances, Will would be amongst those airheads and he'd pull me into the circle with them. I can practically picture the way he'd drape a protective arm across my shoulders and I can _almost _smell his aftershave and Irish spring soap; his signature aroma.

I can feel the familiar pinch at the back of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to try and keep the tears at bay. _Damn. _It's like no matter _where _I am, there's memories of _them _already there; just waiting to bombard me. But, honestly, I wouldn't want it any other way. Because it reminds me that they were once breathing, living beings; they were three people that I loved most in the world.

And feeling this excruciating pain is sure of a hell a lot better than forgetting.

* * *

><p><strong>|Jacob|<strong>

_This imprinting business is for the birds._

After running normal watch until one, I catch Hayley's scent and wind up skulking around in the woods that line the edge of her backyard for two extra hours. I can't help myself. She lives so close to the place where we first caught whiffs of the redheaded leech. I don't want to leave Hayley unprotected for one second, and I probably wouldn't have if Sam didn't order it.

_"Go home, Jacob," _Sam's stern voice echoes through the recesses of my mind. _"Get some rest. Hayley will still be there tomorrow."_

All of this is _irritating. _I don't get enough sleep as it is, and then this new need to keep this fragile girl safe is going to keep me out later than usual. I can't even begin to fathom how Sam or Jared deals with it.

_"Give it time_," Sam told me the day I came to him, right after driving Hayley home. I needed someone level-headed to talk to, so that they could persuade me not to phase and run back to her house and demand that she spend some time with me. "_The imprint is still fresh, Jacob. The level of adoration and affection you're already feeling for her is tenfold. It'll take her awhile to get to your level."_

And, even then, I know that Hayley's feelings still won't compare to mine. It's just so _frustrating.__  
><em>

But, I end up going home, even though every muscle in my body wants to stay, and my chest burns with a fierce desire to protect her. I can hardly stand it. Once again: completely aggravating.

After arriving home at three in the morning, and lying awake for another hour, worrying, all I want is to sleep. But I _need _to see Hayley. Unfortnattely, I'm forced back into bed by not only Quil and Embry, but also my own father. I tell them that I won't stay put until the guys agree to drive up to Forks to check on Hayley. It seems like _hours _before they call, and it's all I can do to keep myself from lifting the receiver to my ear every five seconds, to make sure it's connected.

"This is so stupid, Jake," Embry grumbles. "She's _your _imprint, so she'd rather see you here!"

And I want nothing more than to be there, dropping her off for school; to have her climb out of my Rabbit and cast me a loving smile, and waving, before disappearing into the building. I try to imagine all of the things we could talk about, and do together - the possibilities are endless. I want to know _everything _about this girl. I want to be able to openly admire her, and not try to hide these emotions stirring so strongly inside of me. _  
><em>

"I need to keep my distance right now, you idiot," I grit out, thoroughly pissed as my grip tightens on the phone. I need to keep my anger in check, or I'm going to have to replace the house phone for the _umpteenth _time this month. "How does she _look_?"

"Dude, I don't know! She looks fine, I guess... Wait, does she have red or brown hair?"

"It's _auburn,_ you dumbass," I retort, veering my eyes into a roll. At this rate, she could have two broken arms and Embry _still _wouldn't notice her.

"Oh, right," Embry mumbles in a 'duh' tone. "Well, yeah. That'd be her, I guess. Curly, reddish-brown hair, right? She's wearing a green top, jeans, rain boots-"

"Embry, _focus_," I stress to him. I'm not really interested in hearing about what she's wearing, especially since I can't be present to see it.

He sighs, obviously frustrated with me. _Well, tough shit, _I can't help but think irritably. When he imprints, he can run my ass as much as he wants, but that's only because we'll be able to relate more to each other then. "She looks kinda...sad," Embry answers with uncertainty.

I feel my gut clench tight as I picture Hayley's delicate features in my mind, only to have them be contorted and twisted into something that I'm better off not seeing. "O-Okay," I managed to respond, past the lump forming in the back of my throat. "Thanks, Em."

"Alright, then. Our job's done," Embry pipes in. "We'll be back on the rez in twenty-"

"The hell you will!" I bark, trying to keep my voice down so as to not gain any unwarranted attention from my dad. I can faintly hear the TV on in the living room, so he's probably too absorbed in whatever it is that he's watching to even notice me, but I don't want to risk it. "Listen, I want you and Quil to-"

"Give me the phone," I hear Quil intercede from the background, which is followed by a lot of rustling noises and some muffled complaints from Embry. "Jake, she's _fine. _We won't let anything happen to her, okay? We'll stand watch until the high school lets out. The Babysitter's Club is on the job, so shut up and get your ass to bed." _Click. _He hangs up on me.

My anxiety eases slightly, and I'm able to sleep for a couple of hours, but when I wake up it's one-thirty and I put my foot down. I'm going to Forks, despite my father's protests, to check in on Hayley.

I act quick and scoop up an old v-neck shirt and shrug it on to cover my bare, upper torso, but not without sniffing the article of clothing first to make sure it's suitable to wear. I grab my car keys from my dresser and I'm out the door, only pausing in the small living room to inform my dad that I'm just heading out for some fresh air and I'll be back soon. I don't even bother to check and see if he believes it, because I'm too focused on a certain girl.

It's as I'm driving toward Forks that I think about how masochistic it is of me, rushing to see someone when the look on their face makes my heart throb. This whole thing with Hayley doesn't make much sense. But I know - I can _feel_ - that she's my imprint. Everything is pulling me towards her, and there's nothing in me that's fighting against it.

Embry and Quil look none too surprised to see me as I pull my Rabbit up behind the green Camry that they're sitting in, parked just off the shoulder of the road across from the school. I kill the engine and climb out, walking up to the driver's side of the car just as Embry's rolling down his window and sticking his head out to stare up at me with an incensed expression marring his face.

"Dude, you couldn't wait another _fifteen minutes?"_ he demanded while brandishing his wallet from the back pocket of his cutoffs. I watch on in amusement as he retrieves a crinkled ten dollar bill and slaps it into Quil's outstretched palm.

"Nice doing business with you," Quil remarks smugly, before pocketing the money.

"Oh, shut up," Embry mumbles dryly.

"You should know not to bet against an imprint, idiot," Quil snorts, veering his eye into a roll. "The shapeshifter's need to be near the object of their imprint is too strong. Haven't you learned _anything _from Sam and Jared's thoughts?"

"Are you two knuckleheads done yet?" I inquire curtly, not entirely pleased with them, while crossing my arms over my chest. Besides, Hayley means much more to me than some 'object' - I definitely don't like what Quil refers to her as.

"So, now that you're here, does this mean we're off Imprint Duty?"

I growl at Embry's question. "Get your asses back to the rez before I kick 'em there!" My reaction earns me howls of laughter from my _supposed _best friends, before they're speeding off down the road. I'd definitely be 'talking' to the two of them later about this.

For now, though, I'm content with waiting out here for Hayley.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Hello, hello! :) How are you beautiful people?

So, I've decided to do Jacob's POV every now and again... I hope I've done him justice in this chapter! I'm no Stephenie Meyer, so it's not going to be perfect. But still, I hope I've depicted the essence that is Jacob Black. :)

It's in the next chapter that things get rollin'! So, yay for progress! Haha.

I'm sorry if it seems this story is going too slow, but I don't plan on making my characters rush in to anything. I want to make this as realistic as possible, so I hope you all understand that. :D

By the way, I'd like to hear from you guys! Please don't hesitate to leave a review and let me know your thoughts! Or, if you have any questions about my story! :)

Thanks so much for the support, so far (i.e. reviews/follows/favorites)! It's greatly appreciated and inspires me to keep writing. :)

Until the next chapter!

-Dev.


	5. Chapter 5 - Beginning of Something

**|Hayley|**

The first part of the school day passes by in a hazy blur - a giant, hazy blur of faces and words. Uneventful, really.

Well, until my American Sign Language class, when an office attendant walks into the room and hands Mr. Penn a pale blue slip of paper. He signs, _"Thank you," _before she leaves with an exasperated expression on her face. He looks at it, signs my name, and I'm off to the guidance counselor's office for some reason unbeknownst to me.

_Should I be worried? _

I really hope this has nothing to do with the accident. The last thing I need is to _'talk about my feelings' _like I've been advised since the passing of my family. I already got out of seeing one shrink, I really don't want to trouble myself with the objective of dodging another one.

Mr. Stone, the guidance counselor assigned to talk to my class, had his door closed when I walked down the hall. I hate disturbing others, but I knock quietly and politely; waiting for him to wave me in through the tiny window on the door.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I ask after poking my head into the tiny office, noticing the clutter accumulated throughout his employment. There's a plant hanging in the corner that desperately needs water - it's turning brown and drooping - but I seriously doubt he notices. There's a stack of books, several stacks in fact, in the corner of the room. His desk is too big for the office, but I don't think he minds. He's not one to notice things like that. He's bit of a scatterbrain.

_How did he even manage to get this job, anyways?_

"Ah, yes. Come in, Hayley." Mr. Stone sets aside the folder in his hand he was looking through and points to a green pleather chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat, please."

I sit down, crossing m legs at the knees. I left my backpack back in class, so now I'm trying to find something with which to fidget. If this is going to be a discussion about what I _think_ it's going to be, then I'll _definitely _need something to distract me so as to not let anything incriminating show. I wonder if I _do _decide to just break down in this man's office, would they really send me to one of _those _hospitals? A place where everything is infinitely white and all of the objects are screwed to the floor so that there's no chance of me hurting myself...

I shiver.

"So, what's this about?" I ask, also a little worried that I may have done something _else _wrong, though I haven't got a clue as to what. I haven't injured or threatened anyone. I've turned in my homework, I've complied by the rules, and I haven't snapped at anyone.

"Just touching base with you," he tells me, folding his hands in his lap. For a guidance counselor, Mr. Stone looks young enough to understand teen issues, but I strongly doubt that he'd understand _my generation_, whatever that really means. "Seeing how everything's going."

"Just fine," I answer as plainly as possible.

"I can tell." I'm not sure if I should take that sarcastically... He grabs the file - it must be mine - and opens it, flipping through the multicolored pages inside. I always thought that since the accident, my folder would thicken into this five-inch thick brick of paper. I guess I've been wrong, or that's not my entire folder. "You're pulling straight A's."

"I know," I say cockily with a polite smile. If you're going to be cock about something you're good at - _'confident' _is the word I prefer to use - it's better to show that you're at least nice about it.

"I've been meaning to talk to you since the beginning of last week," he continues, running his palm along his forehead.

"What about?" I ask with interest.

"It has come to my attention, Hayley, that you haven't started sending in any applications for college yet," he begins, pulling out a sheet of pale yellow paper from the file folder, his eyes skimming over it. "Have you thought about where you would like to attend?"

I can only shrug. "Not really," I answer simply. And I honestly haven't. For the first few months after the accident, I couldn't even picture the next day, much less what would happen to me after graduating high school. Of course I talked about it with my parents, and they both encouraged me to further my education. But now?

_I'm not so sure._

"You have excellent grades, Hayley," Mr. Stone stated reasonably. "The only area you seem to be lacking in is your extracurriculars. Weren't you on the staff of the school newspaper just last school year...?"

_...and the school yearbook, pep club, and the National Honor Society. _"What's your point, sir?" I wonder aloud, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. I don't want to seem rude, because Mr. Stone is only doing what his job requires, but this man is just making things more difficult than they really have to be. I've been okay with just _being. _Besides, the _only_ reason I was in _any _of those clubs was because of my parents.

"I think you should get involved, again," Mr. Stone tells me, matter-of-fact. "You'd be surprised by how much extracurricular activities look good on a college application."

"And..." I draw out, waiting for the words in my head to make sense. They're jumbled and scattered, like puzzle pieces, slowly moving until they make a complete picture, "...what if I told you that I'm not really interested in going to college." I don't mean it as a question, but he answers anyway.

"Then I'd have to say that you're selling yourself short," he responds sincerely, steepling his hands. "You have a bright mind, Hayley; it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

I can only heave a sigh, my eyes flickering down to the patch of multi-flecked carpet between my boots. There is so much to consider, so much that I need to think through that I haven't even thought about. _How can I even think about the future - graduating high school, going off to college, and starting a new chapter in my life - when I'm not done living in the past? _I've always been told, by family and friends, that I would be going places, that they were _certain _I would be destined for something greater than this place, I just never knew that the people I love most wouldn't be there to help me along the way.

"I see I've given you a lot to think about," Mr. Stone surmises, clearing his throat.

I lick my chapped lips and bring my gaze back up to his. "Yes, sir," I answer thickly.

"Well, then," he begins, clapping his hands together, "I'll give you some time, just to mull things over, and we should meet up again - say, middle of next week? - to decide where to go from here."

I can only nod, and then I leave the guidance counselor's office before giving in to the anguish that's washing over my body.

I decide to wait until I can duck into the nearest girl's bathroom for that.

I triple-check every stall for feet and then go over to the sinks, grasping the countertop, and stare at my reflection in the mirror anchored to the wall. The girl looking back at me _looks _familiar, but I feel as if I don't _know_ her. Not anymore, at least. This girl is empty, just a hallowed out shell of what she used to be.

_Of what _I _used to be._

At this realization, my body becomes cold and the air quickly leaves my lungs. The lack of oxygen flowing through my body causes me to hyperventilate and makes me dizzy. The room swirls around me as my knees try and give way, but it won't do if I faint in the girls bathroom.

Visions of bright lights, shattering glass, and the sickening snap of bones breaking fills my mind. I quickly try to think of something else, things that calm me: the way it feels to walk in the grass barefooted, the smell of chimney smoke on a cold morning, the sounds of crickets at night... Eventually, my thoughts soothe me and my breathing is regular once more and my body is now warm. But the hurt and loss is still there, just throbbing under the surface.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I run my hands roughly through my hair, knocking my beanie from my head, and my curls cling to my fingers as I bunch my hair in my closed fists, feeling the anger and worry surge through me. It's brief current coursing through my veins, then I'm tired, exhausted from everything.

I spend my last two class periods in a daze, not really absorbing anything. More than once do my teachers call me out for not paying them any attention, to which I mumble an apology and go back to staring blankly ahead to appease them, rather than down at my desk or out the window to the scenery beyond.

By the time the last bell sounds, I'm _more _than ready to get out of there.

I go along with the flow of foot traffic, until I make it to my locker and quickly exchange my books before making a beeline for the nearest set of double doors. Walking outside into the gray daylight, I sigh softly and bring my arms up to wrap around my torso as my eyes scan the curb for Kate's Civic. After not spotting the black car, I plant myself on a nearby bench and retrieve my phone to send her a quick text.

**To**: _Kate  
><em>_Hey where are you?_

As I wait for a response, I watch as the student parking plot slowly empties out. I find myself missing my old truck among them. The old blue monster didn't stand out because most of the cars that belongs to the students are older models. The only flashy vehicle in the parking lot is a silver Volvo, belonging to the one and only Edward Cullen.

Actually, the Cullen family have their own little collection of over-the-top vehicles. And, of course, this caught a lot of people's attention, _especially _when the family first moved down here from Alaska three years ago.

Speaking of, two members of the aforementioned family (the ones that have yet to graduate) are now walking out of the building. Alice, the little pixie-like girl, looks as though she's practically dancing as she walks alongside her flawless brother, Edward. Though the two are adopted, I can't help but take in their similarities: alabaster skin, ocher eyes, purplish bruise-like circles under their eyes, perfect angular features... _It's almost unfair that someone can be so beautiful. _

Just then, as if on cue, Edward's head whips around and his eyes narrow in my direction. I feel my body freeze, suddenly paranoid that he's heard my thoughts. But I'm quick to notice he's staring at something behind me.

"Want some company?" I jump at the timid voice, and I whip my head around to see none other than Jacob Black standing just a few feet from me, on the sidewalk. His lips are curled upwards, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth, to form a sheepish smile. He's wearing a black t-shirt that emphasizes his muscles perfectly, a pair of faded blue jeans and sneakers that look worse for wear. His short, inky hair is slightly gelled and his skin looks almost a dusty bronze color.

"What are you doing here?" the words spill from my mouth before I can even think twice about it, and they're cutting. Jacob flinches at my unexpected question, which sounds more like an accusation.

"I-I was just, uh...," he trails off, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck in an awkward fashion. It's such an oddity to see a boy like Jacob Black so _unsure_ of himself. "Sorry...I just..._damn..._I'm not good with words," he mumbles pitifully running his hand over his face exasperatedly.

"Don't strain yourself," I quip reflexively, not realizing how biting I sound. _This is why I don't have friends._

Jacob's face hardens, and his gaze flattens, his nostrils flaring a little. It's obvious he doesn't appreciate my insensitive remark. "This was a mistake," he says gruffly, backing away slowly.

I heave a sigh, watching as he turns his back to me, but not before seeing the forlorn look in his dark orbs. Guilt churns my stomach from that one look. "Jacob, wait," I voice while pushing myself to my feet, stepping forward, reaching out and placing my hand on the back of his shoulder blade. I can feel the muscles tense under my palm, and the warmth his skin emanates seep through the material of his shirt.

He stays facing away from me, though his head turns just enough so that he can see me from his peripheral vision. "What?"

"I'm sorry," I tell him lowly, licking my lips. "I've just...had a bad day." _It's the half-truth. _

I jerk my hand back as he turns about, his features softening as his eyes flicker over my face. "Do you want to talk about it?" he questions hopefully.

_This kid is giving me whiplash with his sudden mood swings. _I blink slowly, trying to think of a way to turn down his offer _nicely. _"Um, not really," I say, almost regretting it at seeing his crestfallen expression. He looks as though I've just punched him in the gut. "Besides, it's kind of a long story..."

This is just what he wants to hear. "Lucky for you, I've got the time."

* * *

><p>Jacob's miniscule car sputters down the winding streets of Forks with the front windows down. The warm, late summer air whips wisps of my curly hair across my face, tangling the long strands that escapes the ponytail that I've secured at the nape of my neck. Frowning, I yank at the elastic and try in vain to capture the offending strands for a second time.<p>

I've noticed that with each movement I've made thus far, Jacob would cast me sidelong glances and just watch me. It almost seemed as if the kid's been _studying _me. The intent look in his eyes, and the seriousness of his face, has had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat practically the whole time I've been in his car. Almost like I did back in Mr. Stone's office, but for completely different reasons.

"Sorry about the A/C," I manage to hear Jacob say over the classic rock music practically blaring through the speakers. I vaguely recognize the song to be _Angel_, by Aerosmith. "But it'll take more than just _Freon _to fix this ol' hunk-a-junk, and I can't exactly afford the parts I'd need."

He's trying to find an opening - to see what I might be interested in talking about with him. Well, it _isn't _going to work. I outright refuse to talk cars with Jacob Black. "It's fine," I dismiss his apology quickly, shrugging, before settling back in the seat and staring at the road stretched out in front of us.

If I'm being honest with myself, though, I _enjoy _being in Jacob's company. He's still somewhat of a stranger to me, and he doesn't know anything about my past, so he doesn't have to act as though he's walking on nails around me. And he doesn't stare at me like I'm some sort of freak-show, or offer me any of his pity. It's almost..._refreshing. _

And yet, despite how much I seem to like being around this kid, I can't let myself to just _be _around him. I believe it's also because there's great potential for us to become friends, and I strive to not have a lot of people in my life that I have to lie to. _The less people I have to hurt, the better._

All too soon, Jacob is pulling into my driveway. I stare up at the old white house in dismay, not exactly too thrilled to be left to my own devices. Being left alone in an empty house is sure to set my emotions loose; I won't have anything to keep my attention from returning to that very place I hate most, those consequential thoughts and the feeling of emptiness that always tends to follow.

It's strange how when I _wish _I have a load of homework, to at least keep my mind preoccupied, I get assigned zilch.

"We're here," Jacob announces absently, putting his car into park and dropping his hands away from the steering wheel and onto his thighs.

_As if I didn't notice. _"So we are," I murmur, unbuckling myself and reaching for my bag from the floorboard, between my feet. "Thanks, by the way. For the ride."

"No problem."

It's just as I'm in the process of stepping out of the car when a thought occurs to me, and I decide to act fast before I can give myself a chance to second guess my decision.

"Say, do you want to come in?" I ask Jacob, ducking my head to peer back into the vehicle at him. I'm not sure if asking him in too soon is the right thing to do, but I feel content with him around, and I don't want to lose that just yet. "My aunt isn't home," I add as an afterthought, though I'm not quite sure why.

The look of pure happiness on his face is undeniable, but he seems hesitant all the same. "Are you sure? Because I don't want to intrude."

"Sure, I'm sure," I insist, nodding my head. "Besides, you _did _say I get to name the time and place for when we hang out, right?"

His throaty chuckle is music to my ears as he cut the car engine off, extracting the keys from the ignition. "That I did."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Hey, all! :) Well, this chapter is where things start moving! So yay for progress, am I right?

Anywho, I'm really trying to plan out the rest of this story, because I want to see it to the very end. I don't want to be one of those authors who start something, and never finish.

Thanks, by the way, for the review/favorites/follows! I really appreciate it! So **please **keep them all coming! It inspires me to keep going!

Have a good week!

Until the next update,

-Dev.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Truth Hurts

**|Hayley|**

I stand a few feet behind Jacob, watching as he peers around the house, inspecting what surrounds him. The walls of the living room are covered in pictures - my aunt's way of keeping my family in my life. He peeks at the photos, spotting me as a little kid; me as a baby, being held by my mother, and another one of me and my brother playing on First Beach, he was sticking a starfish to my cheek.

It isn't until someone _else _looks at these photos that I realize how awkward of a child I was. It's like I'm seeing myself through his eyes. Something I never want to do again. I feel like he's judging me with every glance, every blink, like these pictures can tell him exactly _who _I am.

I've searched them for the same reason, never finding an answer to that question.

"Find anything interesting yet?" I ask aloud, trying not to come off as rude. I'm suddenly regretting the decision of leaving him alone for a few minutes so that I can get us drinks.

Jacob jumps slightly at the sound of my voice, almost as if he's forgotten that I'm here. "Uh, just looking," he admits timidly, shoving his hands in his pockets innocently.

I offer him a reassuring smile as I move forward and stand alongside him, handing him a can of _Coke,_ which he graciously takes before going back to glancing at the pictures. "This one looks like you," he tells me while pointing to a silver framed photo. I already know which one he's talking about, and I tell myself not to look. To just agree with him and move on to another subject, but I can't help it - I want to see _them._

The picture that Jacob is currently looking attentively at is one of my parents - not much older than I am now - posing for the camera. They were on an outing in the park, sitting on a red-and-white plaid blanket; my father's arm is draped across my mother's shoulder, pulling her into his side, and her face is partially buried into the crook of his neck. The happiness and contentment in this picture is undeniable.

"Um...," I swallowed the lump that's formed in my throat quickly. "Yeah... That's my mom." I hope he doesn't notice my hesitancy to answer.

"Ah," is all he vocalizes. There is a short silence before he speaks again, trying to lighten the mood. "It's easy to tell where you get your good looks from."

I can't help but smile a little at that. "Yeah, she was pretty." I trace my finger along the frame, admiring the photo, only to freeze when I realize my slip-up. I said _'was.' _I glance back at Jacob quickly, hoping he hasn't noticed the past tense in my meaning.

His body is taut, as if he's thinking about it. Luckily, however, he doesn't ask me about it.

* * *

><p>Jacob stays for the rest of the evening, opting to help me with some of the chores around the house that I have yet to complete. I decline his offer, at first, because I can't help but think that this kid has something better to do with his spare time than spend it with someone like <em>me. <em>He adamantly insists, though, and I can't find it in myself to deny him.

"What do you say to a game of Truth?" Jacob suggests as I hand him a plate to dry, eyeing him precariously. We've been washing dishes for the past ten minutes and have yet to exchange one word with the other. "Y'know, as a way to break the ice."

"Okay," I agree easily enough, shrugging and nodding.

Jacob grins, seemingly pleased. "There's only one rule: you have to answer every question with the truth. Doesn't sound so hard, does it?"

I raise my eyebrows at his last remark. "You'd be surprised," I murmur, staring down into the soapy suds in the sink.

"You start," he informs me, bumping his arm against mine. Though it's only for a millisecond, I can feel the heat from his body seep through my clothes, skin and settle into my bones.

"Let's see...," I trail off, trying to think of a safe question. "What's your favorite color?"

He rolls his eyes, laughing. "Oh, come _on, _Hayley. Give me a real question."

"That _is _a real question!" I retort.

"Fine," he scoffs, obviously disappointed that I choose not to cave. "My favorite color is blue. What's yours?"

"Purple," I respond cheerfully. "When's your birthday?"

"January fourteenth. Why won't you ask me more personal questions?"

I cast him a sidelong glance as I pass him a glass in the process. "Maybe because I think it's easier this way. _Why _do you want me to?"

He appears thoughtful for a moment, mulling over his answer, and says, "Maybe because I want you to get to know me better, and vice-versa. Why are you hedging?"

I sigh as I look up into Jacob's eyes, and I already know that I can't lie to this boy. I'm not sure as to why, but every fiber in my body is screaming at me to tell him the _truth. _So, I go with, "Because I don't like talking about myself." And that _is _the truth, just of a different variety. "Why do you seem so interested in me, all of a sudden?"

Now, it's Jacob's turn to seem reluctant to respond. "It's...complicated," he finally answers warily.

"Try me," I challenge, my curiosity piqued, as I turn on the faucet and rinse my hands off before angling my body towards him. "Besides, I know _all _about things being 'complicated.'"

Jacob laughs breathily before scratching the back of his neck, trying to find his words. "Right. Well, the day you wrecked, and I found you, I just... I dunno. I guess when you looked at me, you just seemed _lost. _I just want to know why._"_

"No, you don't," I assure him, my voice low. I clutch the edge of the counter uncomfortably, desperately trying to hold back the tears that are welling up in my eyes now. I can feel the hysteria already fighting with my insides - fight to be let loose. My breathing is starting to lose rhythm, picking up speed, like I'm going to hyperventilate at any moment, and my sight starts to blur. The cold, harsh ache in my chest begins to throb and my hands are trembling.

"Whoa, hey," Jacob murmurs soothingly, his tone husky, as he places a hand on my forearm. His unusual warmth automatically causes the chillness in my body to ebb away. "Hayley?"

My eyes are now closed, so I can't see his face, but worry is the easiest emotion to identify in his voice. It sticks out like a wrong note in a gentle melody. "Hayley? Are you alright?"

I'm silent still, trying to pick the best time to interrupt my breathing.

"Y-Yeah," I managed to wheeze out, griping the counter to keep my body upright.

"I don't believe you," Jacob states simply, and I can feel his body heat more strongly now as he moves closer. "You look pale; maybe you should sit down."

"That's because I _am _pale. Compared to you, anyways," I quip, earning me a low chuckle from him. "Besides, I'm f- _ah_!" I gasp as the floor suddenly disappears from below my feet and I'm being cradled in Jacob's capable arms, his warmth surrounding me as a protective barrier. With a swiftness that nearly takes my breath away, he's ambling out of the kitchen and wandering through the lower level of the house.

"Jacob, _please _put me down," I beseech pitifully, feeling my stomach churning. I _don't _want to vomit all over this boy.

"Just one more second," he mumbles into my hair, and then shifts the position of my body slightly so that I'm leaning more into him. "Now, are you comfortable?"

I slowly open my eyes, surprised to find myself perched on Jacob's lap, as we sit on the brown leather couch in the living room. Without so much as realizing what I'm doing, I rest my head on his shoulder and inhale deeply through my nose. Jacob's scent is earthy - woodsy and musky - and it does wondrous things to my senses that leaves me feeling deliriously content.

"Yes," I finally answer his question, sighing. "You're so _warm." _It feels like I'm sitting next to a crackling fire, and I want nothing more than to shift even closer into his embrace. But, of course, I don't. Because then that would only serve to encourage this kid to react accordingly, and I don't want to put any false ideas into his head. _It just wouldn't be fair._

"Let's see what's on TV," Jacob suggests, scooping up the remote control from the end table and hitting the power button, setting it in motion. I'm very much _aware _of Jacob's nearness as he begins sifting through the channels for anything remotely interesting to watch. Eventually, he settles on a some ridiculous sitcom that looks _far _from funny, but at least it fills the void that the silence has created between us.

It's just as I think about repositioning myself next to Jacob on the couch, that I feel his arm tighten around my waist. I can only huff and cross my arms, wondering if he has some mind reading ability that I don't know about.

_"Relax,_ Hayley," Jacob murmurs in my ear, his breath fanning against the side of my face.

_Easier said than done. _I can only whimper in response; I do _not _like the effect he has over me. Jacob acts as though holding me like this is nothing short of natural. He seems so at peace with himself, and he's even rubbing comforting circles on my arm with his thumb.

"Why are you doing this?" I all but whisper, gazing up at Jacob through my eyelashes.

Three different emotions crosses his face in quick successions, his eyes boring into mine. The first is surprise, the second one I don't recognize, and the third is resolve. He slowly lets his arms fall away, and I'm left feeling awkward and cold. A slight tremor racks through my body as I reluctantly peel myself away from him and situate myself on the couch cushion next to him.

I flush at my own audacity. "I'm sorry," I say curtly, noticing his pinched expression.

"Don't be," Jacob says, his voice a bit hoarse. He rubs his face with both hands before looking at me again, his features now smoothed out. "I tend to be too forward, sometimes."

I offer him a small smile, not really able to find it within myself to be annoyed at him. "You were only trying to help," I say, shrugging.

"But still," he grumbles, clenching his hands. "It's something I'm going to try and control." His voice is cryptic, and another awkward silence follows. I try to mentally decipher the meaning behind his words, but to no avail.

Finally, he pushes himself up to his feet and retrieves his phone from his pocket - probably checking for the time since it's only for a second. He sighs. "I think I should get going. My dad's probably wondering where I am."

"_Oh,_" I breathe, casting my eyes down to my lap, a little miffed that he has to leave. "Well, I'll see you out," I offer, standing to my feet and following him to the door as he fishes out his keys.

Jacob opens the front door and steps out onto the porch, only to whirl around and his eyes catch mine. I can't look away - his eyes are boring into mine with an unreadable emotion so intense that it makes my stomach tingle. "Can I see you again?" his asks, almost in a whisper.

"I, uh... I'm not sure," I answer uncertainly, though I know he can see me at any time, seeing as how I don't exactly have much of a social life anymore.

"Hayley." He's obviously frustrated as he takes my right hand between both of his hands. They're too warm, but I can't help but sigh in bliss. "Don't block me out, okay? _Please_."

I sigh, feeling completely disgusted with myself. "Jacob, I-"

"Jake," he tells me insistingly, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the back of my hand. "My friends call me Jake."

_Jake_.

Somewhere in the woods, a wolf howled, the only sound in the growing silence between us. Jacob looks toward the back of my house for a second, a look of consternation on his face, as he releases my hand again. "Look, Hayley, I have to go. I'm late."

"Late...?"

He only nods his head, not bothering to elaborate on it. "But, I want you to know, I really liked hanging out with you today." He meets my eyes again. "Maybe next time, things won't be so heavy, and I'll get to know more about you."

"Jake, listen to me," I begin, an edge in my tone. I need to tell him that I'm not _good _at making friends, or keeping them. I haven't had anything remotely close to a friend since the accident, and I've grown accustomed to that.

Another howl sounded through the woods.

"Alright, I'd better go," Jacob resolves, though he doesn't move from his spot. "Do you have a ride to school tomorrow?"

I can only shake my head.

"Okay. I'll swing by around seven-thirty to pick you up," he assures me, suddenly breaking out into a breathtaking smile that reaches his eyes. "Bye, Hales."

I watch after his retreating figure as he jogs over to his car and clambers in. He starts the engine and I find myself waving after him as he reverses out of my driveway and disappears down the road.

It takes me awhile for me to find motion; I simply stare into the distance and think about today. _About Jacob. _About the feeling I get when he looks me in the eyes - it's so overwhelming - but I'm not sure what to make of it.

Eventually, I wander back inside and close the door behind me. I suddenly feel a strange pang of emptiness creeping over me now that Jacob is gone, and immediately begin wishing that he could be here. I know that trying to be friends with this boy is a mistake; it will only make things _that _much harder when I'm alone - away from him. And, tonight, is going to be almost impossible to get through.

And I'm right, though not completely.

It's the first night I've slept through without waking up in a sheen of sweat coating the top layer of my skin. The first night that my dreams are free of the nightmare that has haunted me repeatedly. Instead, I see _his _face - Jacob's.

I smile.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: This is probably my favorite chapter to date! Even though it's on the short side, I think it offers a lot to the plot... I mean, things actually _happen_, am I right?! :) lol.

Anyways, I want to apologize for the lateness on the third chapter for COF. I'm still in the process of writing it. And, honestly, the updates for that story will be a little slower than this one, but that's just because I've decided to sort of combine the two. But I promise, I _do _plan on writing more chapters and posting them! So, yay for that! :D

Thanks so much for the reviews/favorites/follows! Y'all are so awesome! I love to read your reactions and see your perspective of the story! So, _**please** _keep the feedback coming! Reviews feed my inspiration/muse! Lol.

Have a good week!

-Dev.


	7. Chapter 7 - First Signs of Insanity

**|Jacob|**

I've found it - found her. My soulmate, my _imprint. _

But I'm still at a complete loss of what to do.

Hayley Graham is broken, and it scares the hell out of me. That sadness, that utterly _destroyed _look in her eyes... I'm scared because I can see through it, and she needs fixing. _God, does she need fixing. _It's in her carefully blank expression, and the way she moves. She doesn't like being touched, that makes her flinch. If anyone does, or says anything, _too _suddenly, or surprises her in _any _way, she nearly jumps out of her own skin.

She tries so hard to keep a wall up, to stop people from seeing, but every now and then there is a flicker of doubt. And there is also fear.

_"What are you afraid of?" _I want to ask. "_What can I do?" _

I can't seem to put my head together and think of something _decent _to say to her, and I know that following my instincts is the _last _thing I need to do. That's why I head straight to Sam and Emily's after leaving Hayley's house. I reduce my speed to a steady pace when I spot a familiar blue door in the distance, and the brightly-colored flowers.

The light is on, so I know that they're still up, but it feels wrong to intrude so late. After parking my car in the drive, I reluctantly climb out and make my way to the front door.

Just as I'm about to knock, Sam opens the door; he's obviously not pleased by my presence. "What do you want, Jacob?" he asks flatly.

I let my arm drop to my side, trying to look anywhere but at him. "I need to talk to you," I mumble.

A beat, and then, "Is this about Hayley?"

"_Mmm_," I murmur in response, the mention of her name stirring something inside of me. Something instinctual.

He opens the door wider and motions for me to enter. "Emily in bed?" I ask conversationally as Sam follows me through the house and into the living room, where the old television set is flashing quietly and the table lamp gives off a soft glow in the corner. This place is definitely a fixer-upper, like a lot of homes on the rez, but it definitely has a homely quality that you just can't pass up. Which is why a lot of guys from the pack spend a _lot _of time here.

"Yeah," he answers shortly while plonking himself down onto the faded, leather sofa and picking up the remote, flicking through the channels carelessly. "Now, tell me what's eating you. You already mentioned it's about Hayley..."

I take a deep breath. "Right, yeah," I murmur, sighing, running my fingers through my hair. "This isn't getting any easier with her, Sam. All I want is to be near her - _all _the time! I just came from her house, but if I could I'd run straight back to her _right now_."

Sam stares up at me sympathetically. "Jake, you know she-"

"Yes," I interrupt, already knowing where he's going with his little spiel before he can even really begin to tell me. "I _know _that she doesn't feel near as intensely as I do, but surely she has to feel _something _towards me... _Right_?"

"I can't answer for her, Jacob," he tells me pointedly, shrugging. "Besides, anything more I have to say on the matter isn't going to make it any easier. Your feelings will only get stronger the more you get to know her, and it's up to _you _on how to handle things. All I can really do is explain what imprinting really means and warn you to be careful. Of course, you already know about all of that."

I give him a who-the-hell-do-you-think-I-am look and shake my head. "I'm not stupid, Sam. I'd _never _dream of hurting her."

"Right," he murmurs, giving a weak laugh. "That's not really what I'm implying. Sure, there is an issue of phasing in front of her - you've seen what happened with Emily." His voice is tight now, and I flinch at the memory I've seen from his thoughts. "But I know you're sensible enough not to do something like that. Unlike someone we both know."

"Paul," I answer without hesitancy.

"What I'm saying is," Sam continues, "is that you don't want to force her into anything she's not ready for."

"Well, _obviously. _But I thought that imprinting was supposed to make _both _sides of the relationship feel something, not just one. Why do I feel like the crazy one?"

Sam chuckles, clapping me on the back. "Welcome to the club, brother," he jokes, shaking his head. "Honestly, Jake, you're not. It just takes time for these feelings to develop, _especially_ since they're of a strong nature. But it'll turn out good in the end, you'll see."

An awkward silence ensues between us as I ponder over his speech. Imprinting isn't absolute, I know that; but I know that it _does _guarantee that a shape-shifter finds their perfect half. But the possibility of Hayley rejecting me, if she chooses to, scares me to death and I can't help but panic at the thought.

"Distract me," I mutter, feeling my throat constrict and my heart to clench painfully inside of my chest.

"What?"

"I just... I can't think straight right now, Sam," I tell him, my tongue feeling like sandpaper.

"Believe it, or not, imprinting _is _mind over matter," he says methodically. "You just have to focus, and not succumb to the desire of wanting to be near her. It's hard - practically _torture - _to stay away, but you _can _do it."

_But I don't_ want_ to._

I can only grunt as I stare at the wall absently, thinking of nothing but Hayley.

I leave Sam's house feeling as confused as I first felt upon arrival. As I drive down the winding, two lane road, every fiber in my body is screaming at me to ditch my car on the side of the road, shift, and run back to Forks. Just to check on her, even though I don't sense anything remotely dangerous nearby. Honestly, I'm just using that as an excuse so that I can be close to her.

By the time I get home, all the lights are out, though the porch light is still on. I can't help but smile at that - this is something my father has done since I first shifted a few months ago.

I have to hunch down to enter through the front door, and I can hear my dad's steady breathing from the back of the house; a telltale sign that he's already asleep. I figure that grabbing something to eat, and going to bed myself isn't such a bad idea.

Only, the fridge is empty, along with every other cupboard in the kitchen that stores food. I guess it's been a while since my dad, or myself, has made a grocery run. I make a mental note to go to the store before making a beeline for my room. But when I attempt to fall asleep, I can do nothing but toss and turn restlessly, and hope that tomorrow will come soon.

* * *

><p><strong>|Hayley|<strong>

It's hard getting Kate out the front door the next morning. I try to rush her through her usual morning routine, but it's a little slow going. Besides, I don't want to be _too _overbearing or I might raise suspicion; it's better if she _doesn't _know about Jacob coming, because then I'll never hear the end of it.

After waving her off from the front porch, I re-enter the house and rush around like a chicken with its head cut off. I take a shower in record time and throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, purple tee. I then run a comb through my sopping curls and slather on a little bit of makeup, before descending the stairs once more so that I can scrounge up something for breakfast.

I end up swallowing a granola bar in three bites and chase it down with some milk straight from the carton. After slipping into my rain boots, and shoulder my backpack, I'm out the door once more. It's just as I'm locking the door behind me that I hear a car coming up the road.

My heart thuds, sputters, and then picks up again in double time. I slowly turn to glance over my shoulder, and I can't stifle back a small smile at the sight of Jacob's old car turning into my driveway. There's just something..._right _about seeing him here.

"G'Morning," he greets casually, casting me a breathtaking smile, as he climbs out from behind the wheel. He rounds the front of the car to open the passenger door, waiting expectantly. "Sorry, by the way, if I'm a little late."

He looks amazing, in a simplistic kind of way, dressed in a pair of cargo shorts and a faded _Nirvana _band t-shirt. It really isn't fair that someone can manage to look so _good _without really even trying.

I know that I have a choice here - I'm free to refuse Jacob's offer for a ride, and a part of me sort of hopes that I can do that.

_It's a vain hope. _

"Uh, it's no problem," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. As I step into the warm car, I notice a black jacket is slung over the headrest of the seat. The door closes behind me, and, sooner than I expect, he is sitting next to me, putting the idling car in reverse.

Something about today feels different, and I realize this as I try and attempt at settling myself in. There's something electric in the air, and it's almost _tangible._

I bring my legs up and secure my arms around them, hugging them tightly to my chest. I rest my chin on my kneecaps as I gaze out the window, watching the trees and houses blur past as we continue on in silence during the ride to school. I can feel Jacob's eyes on me, practically burning a whole in my head, and wonder what he's going to say. He never fails to surprise me, so I'm sort of anxious for this.

"Are you cold?" he wonders aloud. "'Cause if you are, I brought my jacket for you. We don't want you to get sick, right?"

"I'm not _that _delicate," I counter, rolling my eyes at his insinuation, but I pull the article of clothing onto my lap and study the material.

Jacob releases a bark of laughter. "You're so..._small_."

"I am?" I question, quirking a brow and casting him a sidelong glance.

"Compared to me? Yes."

I frown at that, and begin to mentally take note of our differences. Sure, he _is _bigger than me when it comes to height and body weight, but I've always considered myself of average size. But when I'm next to Jacob, I resemble an ant. I'm not sure how I feel about that just yet.

"So, do you have any questions for me today?" he inquires, coming to a stop sign at an intersection.

I'm caught off guard by his unwarranted question, but I manage to recover quickly and respond. "Ah, no," I answer honestly. "I guess I haven't really thought of any." _Mainly because I've been trying to ignore the way you manage to dazzle me._

He smirks. "Well, lucky for you, I have."

I try to suppress a groan; I do _not _want a repeat of yesterday evening. "Great," I grumble.

My reaction seems to bemuse him. "You really don't like talking about yourself, huh?"

His question is rhetorical, I know that, but I answer anyway, "It's not something I'm used to, is all."

"Well, maybe we can change that..."

_He's persistent, I'll give him that._

So, Jacob begins his little interrogation, and he ends up learning some basic things about me. How I've lived in Forks my whole life, I'm seventeen and a senior at Forks High. And while I think that all of this _has _to be boring, he seems genuinely interested in learning about me. He listens with rapt attention and keeps the questions coming, even when he's pulling his car onto campus and parking into a slot.

"So, you've _never _been cliff diving?" He seems so shocked at this tidbit of information.

"Ah, no. I can't say that I have," I admitted, shrugging. Though, I have witnessed my brother and his friends perform the treacherous act hundreds of times over, and it doesn't seem that tempting. Besides, I'm not fond of life-threatening past times.

He casts me a sly smile, and I can't help but shiver in anxiousness since I can practically _see _the gears in his brain grinding as he thinks of an idea with this newfound information he's been given. _Good going, Haley. _Sometimes, I just need to know when I _shouldn't _say anything.

After Jacob kills the engine, we both climb out of the vehicle. I want to tell him that it isn't necessary for him to walka me to the entrance, but I bite my tongue because I _like _having him near. And it's time I let myself just accept it.

Our footfalls soon become in sync and I can't help but smile wryly at that. It doesn't last long, though, due to the fact that people turn to stare curiously at the pair of us. I begin to shrink back, ducking my head and slumping my shoulders, so as to avoid everyone's gazes - _easier said than done. _

"Jacob?"

Both of us look up at the mention of his name.

Bella Swan is standing underneath the awning, alongside Edward Cullen. The latter's body is angled towards the pale girl, and his handsome features are set in a scow; his dark brows furrowed deeply, forming a 'v,' and his heart-shaped mouth curled downward. There's obviously _something _about Jacob that he doesn't like. Bella, on the other hand, seems ecstatic - if not _relieved _- to see Jacob.

Sooner than I can even anticipate, Jacob is draping his heavy arm across my shoulders and pulling me into his side. I glance up at him through my lashes, and I almost gasp at the furious expression on his face. His jaw is clenched, his nostrils are flared, and his dark eyes are narrowed into angry slits.

"What's going on?" I ask lowly, trying to squirm out of Jacob's hold. But his grip on me tightens, and I bite my tongue as I elbow him in his side. "Jake?"

At the sound of my voice, his eyes immediately shift down to meet mine. I notice how the muscles in his shoulders become relaxed and his expression isn't as fierce. He blinks once, twice, and then he's casting me a lopsided smile. "Sorry," he responds, sighing. "I just... It's, uh-"

"Complicated?" I offer, shrugging.

He laughs dryly, scratching the shell of his ear with his index finger. "Yeah, actually," he admits.

I nod, and glance back over to Bella and Edward. Just as she steps forward, as if to make her way over towards us, Edward's pale hand shoots out and takes a hold of her dainty shoulder. His mouth moves as he utters something to her, but she merely shakes her head, her eyes glistening with determination, as she sidesteps him and continues to walk briskly up to Jacob and myself.

The growing smile on Bella's pretty face quickly falters at the sight of me at Jacob's side. Her chocolate orbs flickers back-and-forth, ponderously, as she takes in the sight of us.

"Hi, Bells," he greets her amicably, as she comes to an abrupt halt just an arm's length away. I notice how Edward takes careful steps forwards, though choosing to linger in the background.

"_Jake_," Bella breathes out, grinning, as she crosses her arms. "Hey. What're you doing here?"

"Just dropping Hayley off," he informs her, his voice now tight, jerking his head in my direction.

Bella, for the second time, looks over at me. It's like she's actually _seeing_ me for the first time, even though we've attended the same high school for a few months. "Oh," she murmurs, nodding, looking back to Jacob. "Well, it's good to see you. I almost didn't recognize you, at first. You've..._changed_."

"That's what happens when you check out of _reality,_ Bella," he snaps, and I can't help but flinch at the tone of his voice. Bella's reaction practically mirrors mine.

Edward reacts almost instantly, and he's by his girlfriend's side in what seems like a millisecond. "Now isn't the time, or place, Jacob," Edward's svelte voice advises, though there's an underlying threat in his words. "Control yourself, would you?"

Chills shimmies up and down my spine; Edward might not _look _physically threatening, like his older brother, Emmett, but there is something feral about his presence.

His ocher eyes flit over to me, and I can't help but to meld myself farther to Jacob's side, suddenly feeling _very _self-conscious. As he stares intently into my eyes, I can't help but to think he knows my every thought. It's like he can _see _me, without really even having to look.

An animalistic growl pierces my ears, and Jacob is soon standing in my line of vision - his back facing me. My face scrunches, and I try to peer over his shoulder to see what's going on, but the boy is far too gargantuan.

His body begins to tremor. "Don't talk to _me _about control, you-"

"Jacob, _please_," Bella interjects, her voice desperate.

Jacob only scoffs, shaking his head; as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "I'm _not _the bad guy, here, Bella," he states matter-of-fact.

But before anyone can speak next, the morning bell can be heard from within the building, however muffled it may be. _Thank God._

"We should be getting inside, Bella," Edward murmurs to her, and her whole body shifts towards him instinctively. I've never noticed it before, but the way they stare at each other - with such intensity - is a little frightening.

"Okay," she agrees without hesitation, and sidles up next to him. She casts an apologetic look at Jacob. "Bye, Jake."

The tall boy simply grunts in acknowledgement, nodding his head curtly, before Bella is whisked away by Edward. I watch the two retreating figures, noticing how the latter is whispering furiously to her. _Someone's not a happy camper._

After the couple disappears through the double doors, Jacob whirls about and pulls me into a tight embrace, so much so that it nearly knocks the wind right out of me. My face is buried in his muscular chest, so my yelp is muted, and his capable arms are practically strangling the life out of me. I can feel his lips move against my hair as he speaks lowly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers pitifully, sighing. "I promised you nothing heavy, and I've gone and done the complete opposite."

"S'okay," I manage to wheeze out - I'm willing to say _anything,_ at this point, that will cause him to loosen his grip and allow oxygen to flow normally throughout my body once more.

Just as my vision stars to blur, Jacob steps back and presses his warm lips to my forehead, taking me by surprise for the umpteenth time. "I have to get back to the rez," he tells me, sounding reluctant to do so. "Turns out I have school, too."

I laugh, and peer up at Jacob through my lashes. He's smiling, and I can't help but feel my insides flutter at the fact that that smile is directed at _me. _"Well, then, I guess should be heading inside," I say, gesturing to the school building. "Thanks, by the way. For the ride, I mean."

"Anytime," Jacob assures me, while slowly backing away with his eyes still trained on me. It almost seems as if he's trying to _memorize_ me, or something. "I'll be seeing you soon, okay?"

I nod and give him a lame finger wave before turning and following my fellow classmates through the double doors, feeling Jacob's eyes trained on me the entire way.

_I already miss him._

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: *cough cough* It's been FOREVER since I last updated (approx. a month)!

I am **_so_ **sorry, you all! Life has just been a little hectic, but I promise that I haven't given this story up! However, my updates may be a little slower :/

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Just know that I always appreciate feedback, and I can't wait to hear from you all!

Love,

-Dev.


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